Bringing Achilles to heel
by A Story-Teller
Summary: AU What if Hector had won that fateful fight between him and Achilles? Would the fate of Troy have been any different with Hector still alive?
1. Bringing Achilles to heel

Disclaimer: Troy isn't mine. The Iliad is Homer's and the movie belongs to Universal Studios I believe 

Well here it is, an AU story that has been brewing in my mind for a while, I hope everyone here enjoys it, as I can't remember the idea being done before, strange that. This is my second fan fiction piece ever, and my first Troy story, so now you know where I stand.

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**Bringing Achilles to heel**

CHAPTER ONE

'_And all the world will know…. This is Hector, the fool who thought he killed Achilles…'_

The warrior shook as the golden haired warlord's voice rang out with such harsh, challenging words. The hand gripping his spear tightened its crushing hold, threatening to crush even the solid wooden shaft.

Hector shuddered as the mounting rage swelled within him, deep violent anger that the moralistic man could usually have contained, now on the verge of swallowing his entire being.

That this man Achilles would take his life, Hector was certain, but before the arrogant brute plunged his sword through his flesh, he would be sure to unleash the dark unbridled power that had become a part of his psyche, blossoming through years' worth of slaughtering men.

He began to move closer, springing purposefully from foot to foot towards him. Achilles mocking smile remained as he gleeful mirrored his opponent's movements. Hector scowled beneath his helmet. Was the pompous Greek that confident as to scorn the fight that lay ahead?

Taking a bold step forward, Hector lunged with his spear, straight at Achilles. The man side-stepped easily, casually bringing forward his shield to push Hector away. Undeterred, Hector pushed forward the attack again, this time with the spear tip coming closer to Achilles's midriff. Again Achilles brought his shield up and across, knocking Hector's spear away, but for one moment there was a gap and Hector greedily took the full moment of it. Utilising his own shield he thrust roughly at Achilles actually causing the man to stumble backwards.

The smile was slowly fading from the bronze face as Achilles took a firmer grip on his spear even as he took a few steps back to recover from Hector's solid defensive. A niggling doubt had sprouted and festered in the back of his mind, and he found himself fighting off his own doubts as the two warriors circled each other. Perhaps he had underestimated this Trojan…

Achilles's anger flared. The thought that he may at last have found a near- equal filled him competitive fury. With a cry he launched himself into the air, raising his spear above his head and bringing it down swiftly and fiercely, intending to pass above the top rim of Hector's shield and plunge through the Trojan's head.

Hector pulled his shield up and desperately defended himself as best he could against the Greek's astonishingly powerful retaliating attack. Suddenly, the tides were turned and Hector could do nothing but keep his shield up and take the constant blows that were now raining down on him. Sweat dripped freely from his brow as Achilles brought down his spear for yet another hammer-stroke onto Hector's shield; the only defence and object in the way of the Greek's spear and the Trojan prince's face.

Hector felt despair course through his veins, tainting his otherwise perfect battle rage, but though his strength waned along with his anger, his mind grew sharper and he found himself slowly figuring out the masterful deadly pattern Achilles wove in the air with his spear.

Dark eyebrows knitted in intense concentration, Hector watched as Achilles swung his spear around, striking out again and this time instead of bringing his shield up to deflect the blow, he swerved his body sharply to the left and up, closer to Achilles body. Ducking and dodging each of Achilles's spear thrusts, Hector brought his own spear forward… only to have it knocked sharply down to the floor by Achilles's shield. Hector twisted sharply, bringing his spear up from the ground, knowing he was vulnerable. He felt a slight snag on his spear as he lifted it up and glancing down he noticed, with some satisfaction, that the tip had caught the Greek at the back of his leg, ripping through the man's tendon.

Blood dripped down his leg and Achilles face blanked in horror as he realised what the Trojan had unwittingly done. Glancing at Hector he saw in his eyes that the man was waiting for him to continue the fight, waiting for Achilles to recover and retaliate. As it became apparent that the slicing of his Achilles tendon had done more damage than the Trojan realised, Achilles saw the beginnings of confusion cloud Hector's eyes. Then his legs could no longer support him and the Greek fell heavily onto the sandy floor.

Hector stared in dumb amazement at the fallen warlord at his feet. What had happened? Surely, he had not fallen from the ankle wound he had received? This was a Greek trick that Achilles was playing on him, Hector deduced. Yes, that was it.

Cautiously he circled the fallen body, still amazed trick or not. Coming closer, he held the tip of his sword to the man's neck.

'_Get up'_

The command produced no response. Hector put some pressure on his sword and a trickle of blood fell from a slight cut in Achilles's neck.

'_I will not hew you down defenceless on the ground!_' Hector growled bringing his sword away and awaiting the Greek's response.

Achilles remained silent. Hector held his breath, doubts becoming more prominent in his mind. Coming even closer to inspect the body he noticed Achilles blank glazed-over eyes. Falling to his knees the Trojan quickly felt for the Greek's pulse.

'_Dead?_' He whispered, hardly daring to believe it, even as he closed Achilles eyes respectively.

Taking his hand away from the dead man, Hector stood up gazing up at the great wall of Troy where he knew his father, brother and beloved Andromache along with the rest of Troy were watching, waiting, staring in disbelief.

Silence hung in the air, the moment of astonishment stretching on, an unbearably long amount of time.

And then Paris lifted his voice high in a wild cheer for his brother. And suddenly the silence was broken as the rest of Troy joined in screaming, singing, chanting Hector's name. The huge doors were swung open and Hector, overwhelmed at the thunderous cheering of his people, strode slowly through the gate into Troy herself, wondering very strongly if this were all a dream.


	2. A sign of future victory

Thanks everyone who reviewed, I hope this next installment comes pronto enough for you!

Donna Lynn: What a shrewd mind you have... Yes, the fate of Briseis now that Achilles is no longer around will have a sharp impact on the story (no, she won't get killed, that's boring) and the characters. This chapter won't deal with what's going on in the Greek camp however, that'll be covered next chapter ;-)

PS: Happy new year to everyone, I hope 2005 is a better year for you all!

Keep on reviewing, many thanks!

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CHAPTER TWO 

He would have been ecstatically happy as he was caught up in the evening's celebrations had it not been for the strange surreal-ness of it all. Trojans dancing, drinking, merry-making all around him warmed the prince's heart greatly, but Hector couldn't help but feel aloof from it all.

His father's face, tear-streaked with joy at his return from the duel with Achilles, his brother's playful banter and constant grin when around him and most of all seeing Andromache and little Astyanax again, had all moved Hector deeply but there was something amiss, something felt wrong with the way things had turned out.

Hector, Tamer of Horses, was the hero of Troy that night. A feast was held in his honour and even Troy's councillors and war tacticians had encouraged the festivities, having held off any more talk of the war with the Greeks until the following day.

The main guests, and a few extras, invited by the royal family gathered in the main hall. There they exchanged pleasantries, feasting on the most exquisite of Trojan dishes and drinking far too much of her rich wines.

The two princes of Troy, accompanied by their wives, entered the main hall last and a great cheer rose up from all gathered as they caught sight of Hector. He smiled politely but said nothing and the guests turned their attentions back onto food and drink. Paris stared questioningly at his brother for a moment looking as if he were about to say something, before turning back to the smiling Helen on his arm, stroking her chin softly while she blushed and giggled.

'_Someone seems popular today…_'

Hector glanced down to Andromache by his side, glad that she at least was unaffected by his quiet manner.

'_Indeed…_' He said, in good humour. How his wife always knew how to cheer him up Hector never knew.

As the night wore on, nobles and the rich men of Troy took it in turns to congratulate Hector, commenting on his bravery and skill during the fight with the Greek. The praising was overwhelming to say the least and more than once Hector found himself glancing over to the exit of the main hall wistfully. It was left to Andromache, when Hector did not reply, to thank those couples gratefully.

Eventually managing to slip away from Glaucos, who kept slapping him heartily on the back, Hector sagged onto a couch, exhausted. He gazed at the wine cup in his hand, swirling the red liquid around the sides of the bronze goblet. Sitting down beside him, Andromache watched her husband's carefully controlled movements, delight churning with worry along with the wine.

'_Will you not participate in the festivities…'_

Andromache leaned in closer to her husband, casually slipping an arm around his waist. Hector smiled gratefully at her comforting embrace but his eyes never left the wine goblet. A thoughtful look was in his eye.

'_You know how I do not rejoice in the death of my enemies_,' he said simply.

Andromache leaned her head against Hector's broad shoulder sighing absently.

'_Paris will be back regardless, with more wine and food…_' she whispered, idly stroking loose strands of Hector's dark curls, '_and with another plea for you to join him and Priam…_'

'_That I do not doubt'_ Hector replied softly, turning round to Andromache, kissing her gently on the lips. Looking into her loving, trusting brown eyes Hector's façade crumbled as he saw how much she desired and deserved an explanation for his strange behaviour.

'_I'll tell you later' _he promised her just as Paris headed over to them, a determined look in his eye.

'_Brother, father wants to see you now!_'

'_Paris… I really…'_

'_Hush brother, he wants to make a speech!'_

Hector gave Andromache an apologetic look, but she just laughed, motioning for him to go with his brother.

Half pulling, half dragging Hector to the front of the hall, Paris muttered quietly under his breath.

'_What is it?_'

Hector glanced at his worried brother's face then looked away, shaking his head.

'_Now isn't the time little brother…_' he whispered gruffly.

'_Not the time for what?_'

Paris and Hector both turned round to see their father descending from his high backed throne set at the head of the hall. A smile was on his face as he wrapped an arm around each of his sons.

'_No arguing please between the two of you,_' he whispered, _'not tonight'_

'_Yes father'_ Paris muttered turning to look at Hector, seeing him nod his head.

Then there was silence as, at the head of the throne room, Priam; King of Troy rose to his feet flanked by his sons on either side. Trojans paused in their celebrating to listen to what Priam had to say.

The old man smiled down on all gathered but in particular his eldest son. For Hector, his father's smile, so full of pride and happiness filled him with guilt that such joy was not in his own heart. He was careful though, to hide his feelings from betraying themselves on his face.

'_The Gods have blessed me…'_ Priam began gravely, solemnly, though with a face that was positively glowing, '_truly; the great Apollo has answered my prayers…'_

Briefly he indicated the giant solid gold statue of the God Apollo behind him.

'_He has safeguarded Troy against uncountable foes and protected my son against the greatest of these.'_

He laid a hand on Hector's shoulder.

'_Tonight we praise the Gods for giving us strength in our weakness, courage when we feared and faith when we doubted...'_

Hector smiled grimly at his father's words, knowing all too well who he was referring to.

_'…Tonight we are eternally grateful to my son, Hector, who has proved today that the spirit of Troy will not be broken by these foreign Greek invaders. Troy is to endure this war just as the Gods willed his victory over the Greek on Troy's beaches. It is a sign of our future triumph!_'

Loud cheers followed Priam's speech, as every Trojan leapt to their feet in wild celebration. Persian dancers entered the room following Priam's final words, scantily clad, swinging their arms and bellies around in an enticing manner. Out of the corner of his eye, Hector noticed Paris leaving with Helen. Taking leave of his father and seeking out Andromache, Hector left the hall shortly afterwards.


	3. Achilles is dead

Here we go then! For anyone wondering what happened to Briseis... more will be coming in the next chapter as well so stay tuned!

**Donna**: Thanks for correcting that, er, glaring mistake there. I've since changed Triopas to Glaucos, now I think this is Priam's military advisor, be sure to correct me again if you have to!

**Hades**: I guess you're a fan of H/A fanfiction then? There will be a bit of that in this chapter although I don't intend this fanfiction to have a mainly romance theme.

And to all my readers, keep on reviewing many thanks.

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CHAPTER THREE

'_Achilles is dead'_

Briseis heard the news from within Achilles's tent, peering out the window flap as she saw the Greek scout report back to Eudorus, the tall dark haired man who appeared to be the second in command of the Myrmidon contingent.

Immediately she broke down in grief, strangled sobs shaking her body. Of course, who ever had won this accursed duel would have left her feeling thus. Hector, her beloved cousin, against Achilles, the only Greek who had shown her kindness, and even his love. The fates were so cruel.

'_I suppose Agamemnon will be wanting his slave girl back then… seeing as though Achilles will clearly have no longer need for her…_'

Dimly Briseis heard the words, and her breath caught in her throat as she heard the two men come towards her. The tent flap was lifted and Eudorus, the man who had spoken, peered into the gloom of the tent until his eyes found Briseis huddled in the corner, tears spilling silently onto her face. A sad, strange smile crossed the Myrmidon's face briefly.

'_So he meant as much to you as I, in the end…_' he whispered.

Their eyes connected and in that moment there was a sad understanding between the two. Briseis saw clearly then that it had not only been her who had wept for the golden haired Greek. Eudorus nodded, and slowly held out a hand for her. Briseis hesitated, looking at the Greek's outstretched arm in apprehension.

'_You'd best take it girl'_ he said quietly, '_Agamemnon will have you one way or another, it would be wise to come now with me, before he sends his men to collect you' _

Briseis flinched at his words, taking the Myrmidon's hand swiftly.

As they passed through the Greek camp, Briseis saw first hand the effect Achilles's death had had on the Greek troops. Everywhere she went there was a sombre, subdued atmosphere about the Trojan beach.

Greeks sat on their hunches, next to the boats and outside their tents quietly, showing no communication except to grumble at each other. As she passed a group of them, they looked up to sneer at the Trojan slave girl, muttering unpleasant threats darkly. Briseis cringed, stayed close by Eudorus as hands itched towards her skirts. The Myrmidon wrapped an arm around her protectively to calm her.

'_They might dream of it, but they would not move against you_' he said, allaying her fears. Briseis relaxed, and continued to observe the men cautiously.

Words, snatches of conversation passed her by and she strained to hear what was being said. Half-uttered oaths and curses garbled most Greek soldiers' conversations but Briseis heard every now and again names whispered ominously, events spoken-of disdainfully, of Hector the Trojan prince who had beaten their champion. Although these men did not weep for Achilles, his death had obviously been greatly felt by everyone.

'_Now mind your manners, girl, when addressed to by Agamemnon, high king of the Achaeans…_' Briseis turned her head sharply back to Eudorus as they reached the largest tent set up on Troy's sands, _'although Achilles and I never thought much of him, in your case it would be wise to be submissive and obedient to his wishes…_'

Briseis opened her mouth to reply but just then she was thrust into the high king's tent.

Two men occupied the vast space before her. Agamemnon sat on his throne at the far end of the tent and pacing around by his feet, one of the lesser kings of Greece was loudly voicing his opinions.

'…_Achilles's death has done more harm than you know, my lord. The men's morale has been severely weakened, and with Troy continuing to endure our siege…_'

Agamemnon's eyes shifted quickly onto Briseis's weary form as she entered. Lifting a hand to silence Odysseus, a broad smile lit up the high king's features as he stood up from his throne.

'_Well, well, well, the slave girl returns… How appropriate now that the mighty Achilles lies dead…_' he mocked, walking slowly towards her, '_his body left bleeding on the sands…_'

Tears spilled unbidden from Briseis's eyes at Agamemnon's cruel words. Angrily, she raised a dirty hand, wiping them away and fighting to hold back more.

'_Ah, a Trojan weeping for a Greek, this is a thing unheard of!_' Agamemnon continued, smiling maliciously, _'my dear, you do realise how ugly you look when you cry…_' raising a hand to Briseis's face, he wiped the liquid from her cheeks almost gently. Reacting as if she had been stung, Briseis slapped his hand away.

'_You lie! Achilles wasn't…_' she shouted before realising her mistake and backing away quickly; her head lowered not daring to meet his eyes. She didn't get far, as a strong hand grabbed her under her chin and her neck was wrenched upwards.

'_Realise also, my dear that such behaviour will no longer be tolerated!_' Grabbing her bodily, Agamemnon pulled her close to him in a crushing embrace.

'_I will be the one to tame that rebellious streak out of you_' he hissed dangerously in her ear. Briseis struggled to free herself but to no avail. Looking over Agamemnon's shoulder, her eyes caught those of Odysseus in a silent plea. The King of Ithaca looked at her sorrowfully than lowered his head, a look of intense disgust on his face.

At length Agamemnon pulled away from her, winking slyly, _'now my pretty, you will excuse us men our further discussion of war on your country' _he walked back to his throne but then paused, adding as afterthought, _'and no, Achilles will receive a burial worthy of him, don't fret, you will be there when we burn his body this evening…'_

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All was silent in the palaces of Troy. In their bedchamber Hector lowered his head and looked passively at his and Andromache's hands, entwined together.

'_Is Astyanax asleep?_' he asked her quietly.

'_For several hours now… my beloved, why…' _

Hector sighed and took Andromache gently by the arm, guiding her along with him onto the bed where they sat down. She deserved to be told, and he had promised her, so she would know.

'_Andromache…_' he began, looking at her in the dim light, straight into those wide, beautiful brown eyes of hers… his heart suddenly beating painfully within his ribs, _'ever since… since I killed the Greek Achilles, my mind has wandered and I find I cannot put it to rest…' _

Andromache took her husband's hand, offering support, her eyes never leaving Hector's face.

'_The faces of all the men I've killed… always they have haunted me,_' Hector said, his eyes momentarily blank, _'but with Achilles… nothing. And that disturbs me more than all the rest…'_

He paused, gazing helplessly at his wife who returned his gaze sorrowfully.

'_It was a fluke_…' he finally whispered, almost dreading the very words he spoke, _'I should have died today… Achilles overpowered me; he could have killed me anytime he wanted… Andromache…'_ he bowed his head shamefully and Andromache wrapped her arms around him, holding him in a motherly way stroking his hair as he whimpered, barely audible, into her shoulder.

'_It was an accident_…_ I sliced his heel and, he fell… I've never seen a man bleed like that, never killed a man so…so carelessly …'_

Andromache bit her lip, holding back tears. How it tore her up inside, all of it. Seeing her beloved Hector alive, knowing that he would come back to her that day, had been one of the happiest moments of her life. But the duel with Achilles had obviously changed him, leaving deep invisible scars.

It wasn't fair. Not this night… not when she had him here safe in her arms after the dreaded duel with the Greek on the plains.

Abruptly Hector straightened his neck, regaining some sort of composure.

'_Forgive me…_' he muttered quietly.

There followed a long silence until Andromache, unable to take the stillness any longer abruptly flung herself into her husband, fiercely embracing him, her arms desperately holding him.

The first thing Hector felt was shock, but that was quickly replaced as the acute sense of the overwhelming love Andromache held in her arms for him came flooding through his senses, warming him, burning him, like liquid fire.

'_Oh, my Andromache…' _he whispered, bringing his arms around her and softly running one through her hair.

Andromache smiled, pulling her husband ever closer to her, silent tears running down her cheeks, _'whatever happened, whatever happens, you are here with me, surely that is all that matters….'_

Hector cried with joy at her words, she was right. Even as he worried when morbid visions tormented him and his fragile mind, she was always there with him, having the power to banish them, with her mere presence and soothing words. He had simply overlooked it. Andromache. Beautiful love.

Taking her gently under the chin he pressed his lips onto hers and as she responded to his passion, Andromache felt all her fears and sense of time melt away. The world around her spun and there was nothing but him holding her, caressing her, loving her. And she was content.


	4. Authors Note

**Author's Note**

Just to tell everyone (and in case anyone was wondering), I have NOT abandoned this story!  
And I have NOT run short on ideas either, I had the whole story planned out to the endbefore I even began.  
I just really have not had a lot of time to do any writing, GCSEs, languagesand instruments take up all my time at the mo.  
That and the fact, is sorta limited round my house, my parents hate it!

Sorry to leave everyone waiting for the next installment like this, I will update when I can (which may be a while) but don't doubt that I won't!


	5. Royal Blood

Update time... This story will be completed... It's just taking it's time... Thanks for showing an interest.

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CHAPTER FOUR 

Earlier that evening, before dusk had fallen, a less pleasant scene was continuing to unfold on Trojan beaches. Back in Agamemnon's tent, Odysseus threw up his hands in despair.

'There is no way our siege will hold up now, my Lord…'His hand motioned to the map stretched on the long table before him, indicating the losses and positions now held by the Achaean army.

'…What with the Myrmidons no longer supporting troops from the left flank, and the decimation of Nestor's men along the central column before the wall, we do not have enough manpower to force the Trojans away from their gate. At best we can pin them in position, and hope to pick as many off as we can through Diomedes's archers on the right flank…but even then it will be awhile before we can breach Troy's army and bring a battering ram to her gates '

Sitting on his throne at the end of the room, Agamemnon grunted in acknowledgment. Standing up, he walked to the table, pointing a finger on ground before Troy's walls. _'_And if we pull all our forces to attack here, right before Troy's gates? Surely we can force our way through, without the need for all your tricks and ploys? We still have the greater numbers in this war, after all, what have we to fear?' The fat King said rhetorically, grinning at his tactician.

Odysseus inwardly grimaced. He forced a returning smile for a moment, then his eyes returned to the map, his hand motioning to the placement of the entire Achaean army before Troy's walls and the disaster that would befall them in such a move.

'…And so you see my Lord, attacking Troy in force openly again on the plains will only further result in massacre. If the Trojans weren't prepared to _push _against our front men with their shields in their regimented formation, then almost certainly we would break through them with our greater numbers. But surely your Highness remembers last time… Our strength was deployed against us, Hector used_…'_

'_Hector!' _Agamemnon spat venomously, causing Odysseus to pause. His King sounded dangerously incensed. 'Do not speak to me of that – that _Trojan!_ Speaking to me like that before my own army – refusing _me_…'

The High King's eyes flashed as he rambled incoherent rage, '…_Achilles_, at least, was tolerable – he could be manipulated… but, no, Troy has cost me my best warrior…'

Odysseus cut in, '…yes, and with Achilles is dead, my lord, we have lost all the advantages the Myrmidons brought to the war. The fact is Troy's army has a more than capable general to lead them to victory. In such circumstances that now face us, my lord, admitting failure and turning the ships back to Greece is a wise option to consid-'

Agamemnon looked at Odysseus, pure animalistic fury in his gaze. His robes billowed as he paced the length of the long table, his hand moving violently over the map before banging down hard on the table, his fist crushing the painted Troy's walls.

'_I will not abandon Troy's beaches… never will I allow Priam the satisfaction of our surrender!' _Agamemnon thundered, blazing fire in his eyes.

Odysseus frowned hard at his Lord's words, but slowly the frustration melted away into despair at Agamemnon's adamant refusal. How blind had the greedy man become, that his stubbornness should condemn them all? In his heart he knew that any success against Troy had died along with Achilles. The King of Ithica let out a sigh he realised he'd been holding all throughout their debate. So be it.

Defeated, Odysseus slumped down on the throne at the right hand of his king, Agamemnon's puppet, as ever he had been.

'So, we will continue our siege as you would have it, my lord, through to the end. In this war of attrition, we will eventually succeed…' He spoke coldly, in a monotone. 'Despite the lack of any other option available to us… eventually we _must _succeed…'

But at what cost, Odysseus thought sadly, my life? My only chance of seeing my family again? He stood suddenly to his feet.

'My lord? I shall prepare myself for tonight's funeral ceremony…'

At Agamemnon's dismissal by wave of hand, Odysseus left, a slow anger beginning to burn in his heart.

* * *

The night was quiet and restful. A full moon shone undimmed silver brilliance on the shores of Troy, alighting the sands in white fire. From the shoreline to the top of the dune sands, the largest funeral pyre yet erected on Troy's beaches stood proudly on the horizon. Its size and meticulous construction honoured the body laid deferentially on the mass of wood heaped up on high so all gathered could see.

Almost the entire make up of the Achaean army had gathered around the new pyre that had been built for this evening at the sea's edge. All stood still in respectful stillness as a lone figure broke apart from the gathered multitude, a flaming torch in his hand, and climbed the ladder to the large pyre built at the top.

Solemnly Odysseus approached Achilles's body, laid out gently on the stacked timbers. Even in death his body seemed imbued with life; his golden hair shone like a lion's mane as it splayed out around his shoulders, and Odysseus could see the knots and strong form of his muscular body clearly in the silver moonlight.

Hector had left his slain enemy's body completely untouched and, silently, Odysseus thanked the Trojan prince for this kindness.

With the utmost respect he laid the two coins on Achilles's face, murmuring his own prayer for Achilles's soul's safe passage, before alighting the funeral pyre. Even the flames themselves seemed to lick the fuel they burned with an almost respectful silence, never flaring up or crackling in greed. Odysseus smiled sadly. Truly this was all befitting Achilles's farewell.

'_Be at peace, my brother'_ he whispered, feeling the warmth of the fire lifting the ashes of Achilles body into the night…

Amongst the multitude of mournful men, a single woman stood, trembling slightly from a mixture of the cold night breeze and turbulent inner emotions.

Briseis felt tears run down her cheeks, but she didn't raise a hand to wipe them away. Softly spiralling into the midnight air, the black smoke that freed the soul of the man she loved reminded her to the fate he had left her. Alone.

Shuddering, she ran her hands lightly over her collarbone. She felt dirty; the feeling of Agamemnon's hands on her body from earlier lingered, repulsively, in her mind. Tonight he would call for her, she knew. He attended this funeral ceremony only for show, and to acknowledge some sort of gratitude to the man who might have won Troy for him, and for a while sated his inexhaustible greed.

Turning her head slightly from the burning spectacle before her, she sought out the fat man's figure from the opposite side of the front ranks of the gathered Achaean army on the sands. In a moment she located him.

The High King had taken his eyes off the pyre and was talking to a smaller man beside him who bent low, his face hidden by dark cloth. One of his servants, Briseis thought, fear gripping her heart afresh. She watched as Agamemnon seemed to mutter something in the stooped man's ear, who then bowed and shuffled quickly away. Briseis watched as a look of supreme serenity washed over Agamemnon's features, her heart in her mouth, wondering what on earth would make the High King of the Achaeans look that way.

One horrible second later she realised her terrified gaze had lingered too long. Surveying the surroundings, Agamemnon's eyes locked onto Briseis's form and the girl felt her very blood freeze as the sadistic man _smiled _at her, the flames casting eerie shadows on his face.

* * *

Later, when the men began to disperse finally, withdrawing to their tents, Briseis found herself, as predicted, being escorted to the High King's presence. Numbly she allowed the soldiers their frustrations; they prodded and pushed and hit her all the way to Agamemnon's tent which she entered sprawled on her face.

The Achaean Overlord was sitting in his chair, apparently enjoying a glass of wine. Briseis remained huddled on the floor, hoping to avoid his attention. Slowly Agamemnon lowered the goblet, licking his lips.

'It appears, my pretty, you have been somewhat untruthful with me…'

His voice was low and gruff and it sent shivers down her spine, causing Briseis to shudder. With her head lowered she didn't see Agamemnon rise and approach her.

'It's a thing I _cannot stand,_ when people keep secrets from me – and yours has been such a big secret, hasn't it my dear?'

Briseis raised her eyes, her mouth opened in askance, but Agamemnon had darted forward and grabbed her suddenly, a hand clenched around her neck.

'_No! _Don't deny it, I won't listen to any Trojan lies. My closest spies have already informed me… They have confirmed beyond any doubt what they've heard passing between you and dear Achilles these past few evenings…'

His voice grew low, husky. He gazed down at the terrified girl clearly enjoying himself.

'…_All this time_, and I thought you were just a common serving girl, a slave to Apollo's Temple…' his grip around her neck loosened and became soft. Briseis whimpered as he traced his fingers down a pulsing artery...

'…When really you were so much _more_ – a daughter of _royal blood_, related directlyto old Priam himself, and cousin to his _bastard sons_…' Agamemnon's fingers stroked her cheeks almost reverentially.

_No…_ Briseis's mind screamed silently, but Agamemnon was without mercy. In a second he had pulled her face to his lips. His kiss was more of a physical assault. Briseis's trapped arms fluttered weakly.

'Suddenly I have such plans for you, my sweet,' Agamemnon murmured into her ear afterwards, '…and perhaps now, if all goes well, Troy will at last succumb to me, after all.'

* * *

Half of the next chapter is written... praps it will be up sometime during the summer... Anyway thanks for reading! review if you can spare a moment... cheers. 


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